


The Asylum

by elismay



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Asylum, Blind Character, Deaf Character, Eating Disorders, M/M, Mental Disorders, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Not really romantic, Other, POV Multiple, Phil is an investigator, Secrets, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, The Author Regrets Everything, delusional character, suicidal character, theres an oc but shes not cringe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28912590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elismay/pseuds/elismay
Summary: Clay doesn't know why he's in a stupid mental hospital. He swears he only got admitted there yesterday, eventhough everyone says it's been a month.He's alone, anyway.That is, until he meets George and Nick.-Clay tries solving his own backstory with his new friends, all the while an investigator tries doing it too.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 27
Kudos: 191





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> please read!

HEY BESTIES. Im back with a new book, and this is slightly different theme. 

This book contains:  
-mental health issues

-literally in the setting of an asylum

-suicide mentions/attempts

-everyone in this book are teens (15-19) except for philza and the oc 

-there's not much romantic feelings, might make it dnf if that's what you guys want!

-this book is following cc's boundaries, which is the reason why some cc's have their real names used and some don't (if i accidentally overstep a boundary, do let me know!)

-updates every week and maybe surprise updates in between ;)

-is it similar to my other book (the celestic)? short answer, no. long answer, yes and no

-there will be death and death mentions but im not gonna say who it is 

-just so you guys know, im not an expert with mental health institutions, or mental health disorders in general. so some things here would be fiction, and some are actual disorders. 

-THIS BOOK IS NOT A REALISTIC DESCRIPTION OF HOW AN ASYLUM WORKS. so please dont come @ me and say i got stuff wrong, thanks

tags will be updated along with each chapter! chapter one out in a few hours maybe :0 

enjoy the book guys! do leave comments and kudos if you do enjoy it :))


	2. Asylum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FIRST CHAPTER POG

**_Lena_ **

  
  


"What are you doing, Clay?" 

Lena looked over the teen boy's shoulder at the table, to see him drawing. He did not respond to her question. She did not expect him to, anyway. He turned around and looked at her, his green eyes boring into Lena's brown ones. 

"I'm giving this to my mother when she comes back. She promised me yesterday. She'll come back again today. So I'm going to give this to her," Clay spoke excitedly, holding out the drawing. 

Lena smiled at the drawing. Yes, she remembered it. Memorised it. The picture of Clay, beside a woman with blonde hair, some trees nearby. Clay used to live near the woods, if she remembered correctly.

"I'll take this, okay Clay? I know you want to give this to her. So I'll keep it safe. Would you like that?" Lena asked kindly. She already knew what his answer would be.

"Yeah! That'll be great. Thanks," Clay picked up the drawing and gave it to Lena. 

Lena looked around the room, the art room in the hospital that Clay and a bunch of other people were stuck in. "You're alone Clay? Don't you want to make friends? The kids here are really nice," Lena asked, folding the drawing. 

"Who's Clay?" Clay turned to Lena and asked. 

Lena could feel a small tinge of sadness when she heard that question. Strange how the boy could remember some things and forget the rest, but not remember his own name. 

"No one. I'll take this to my office for safe-keeping, okay Cl-I mean, Dream?" Lena found it odd how Clay couldn't remember his name, but could remember his online persona. 

Clay seemed surprised by the term of address but accepted it anyway. He nodded, looking away from Lena. "The people here don't like me. They've never tried talking to me before,"

Oh Clay, they have. Lena thought. The other teens are so nice, they would love to know you. 

"I'm sorry," Lena said. Clay turned around, looking at her scrutinising. He looked confused, as though Lena had uttered nothing but Gibberish.

"Sorry. For what? It's fine. I don't mind that I'm alone," Clay turned back to the table, pulling out a canvas this time. "Should I make something else for my mother?" he asked. 

"No, she'd love the drawing you've made here. And you can leave the canvas here once you're done. Okay?" 

Clay nodded, Lena had pretty much memorised the exact scene. She hesitated, watching Clay take a bottle of black paint.

"Is there something else?" Clay asked, not turning back this time.

Lena sighed. "No," 

-

She looked at the picture Clay had drawn, sighing inwardly. She pitied Clay so much, but she didn't know what was there to do. If she told him, he would just forget all over again. She would have to remind him everyday, and watch the disappointment fill his eyes everytime. For how long, who knows?

She entered her office, which was at the end of the corridor in the ward. The ward that Lena was in charge of as a nurse, was made for minors. Or those minors who aren't mentally insane. The doctor who worked for that particular ward was almost never at work. But that was fine, the teens preferred Lena over the nameless doctor.

Lena entered her office, walking towards her desk when she saw someone sitting on her chair. Someone very familiar, with blonde hair and a green hat.

"Hello Lena," Philza greeted cooly.

Lena pursed her lips, not returning the investigator's greeting. She walked stiffly past Philza, feeling the man's eyes watching her every move. She knelt down to a small cabinet beneath her desk, to put away Clay's drawing.

"What is that?" Philza questioned, he didn't seem unfazed by Lena's lack of greeting. He stood up from the chair, approaching the cabinet. 

He knelt down, looking over Lena's shoulder to see the drawing. 

"One of the kid's?" Philza asked. Another idle question.

A stupid one, in Lena's opinion. She knew exactly why Philza was there. And it was a pretty valid reason, but she didn't want the investigator near any of the patients. Or kids, as she liked calling them simply. 

Lena was so lost in thought, she didn't notice Philza reach out to grab the drawing from the drawer. 

"Hey! Give that back," Lena complained, reaching out to take back the drawing. But it was too late, Philza had spotted the other one.

"What the fuck..." Philza spoke, looking back at the drawer. There was a small stack of papers inside the top one, where Lena had placed Clay's recent drawing. 

Underneath it, another drawing. It looked exactly the same as the one done by Clay that day.

Underneath it, another one.

Philza picked up the whole stack, which had about 14 papers in it. All of them, the same drawing.

"What is this? Lena? Who made these?" Philza asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Lena took a step back, taking deep breaths. "Drawings," she said calmly, but she knew that Philza could sense her fake front. The man was still looking through all the drawing, all looking like exact duplicates. Except for one.

"Why's this different?" he asked, holding up the drawing. 

This one was of a boy crying, blue lines drawn on hid face. Grey boxes surrounding him, and a distance away in the drawing was a woman with blonde hair. The same woman drawn in the other pictures; Clay's mother. In the drawing, she was walking away, back facing the grey box.

"Lena?" Philza questioned again. 

Lena stared at the drawing. She remembered exactly what happened that day. What triggered Clay to draw that. She had told him, the truth. About why he was there, why his memories were so fuzzy and why he couldn't remember his own name. 

The look on Clay's face. The way his eyes widened when he heard that, the tears that came endlessly. Lena couldn't even apologize, because two simple words weren't sufficient enough to help someone like Clay.

"Someone here drew that," Lena said softly, almost a whisper. 

"I know, but who?" Philza continued.

That's when someone started knocking on the door.

"Come in!" Lena yelled out, loud enough for the person outside to hear. The door opened, revealing a young teenager with half black and half white hair, walking in. He was tall, almost as tall as Lena, but the look he had on his face was pitiful.

"Help me," the teen said, sniffing. He put his hands to his ears and cringed, as though someone was screaming at the top of their lungs into them.

"Oh Ranboo... are you hearing the voices again?" Lena asked, walking up to put a hand on the teen's shoulder. Ranboo looked at her and nodded.

"Voices?" Philza asked. 

"They tell me bad things, but who are you?" Ranboo asked, standing up straighter and removing his hands from his ears.

"That's Philza. He's an investigator. A police man," Lena answered Ranboo's question.

"Your name is Ranboo?" Philza asked, and Ranboo nodded. "You can tell me who drew this?" he held up Clay's drawing.

Ranboo squinted at it, taking it from Philza's hands and looked at it closer. "Oh yeah, I know who made this. It's Clay's kind of drawing. Good to know he's finally embraced reality,"

"Meaning?" Philza was confused.

"People know that once you're here, your mama and papa will never come back to see you. The moment you're left here, you don't have a mama or papa anymore. Clay's the most delusional one. Worse than anyone here. Okay, maybe except those in the insanity ward,"

Lena winced. The guilt she felt for the kids she took care of increased. She knew things were hard for them, but she never really noticed how it really was a pattern. Kids would come here, their parents would visit everyday. But eventually, visits get shorter and visits rarely happen. Soon, the parents completely exit their own child's life.

Some would try for another pregnancy, to replace their 'broken' child, and some would just completely move on. Leave their own kids to die here.

"Who are your friends Ranboo? Is Clay one of them?" Philza kept questioning Ranboo, as though the teen was a suspect for a crime.

"No. I hang out with Tommy and Tubbo. Ive tried talking to Clay, he's pretty nice. But I'd have to remind him every single day who I am. I know it's mean, but I don't want to. The voices might tell me to kill him if I get annoyed,"

A shrill scream rang out.

"Insanity ward," Ranboo said matter-of-fact like. 

"You live here..." Philza muttered, sounding shocked, horrified. 

Lena watched his reaction. She knew that feeling. As someone who worked in the hospital, she never really saw the full picture. She simply felt like a daycare teacher, making sure the kids all eat their medicine, checking up on people like Darryl and Clay. Making sure Tommy isn't walking off a bridge. Hugging and comforting Ranboo when the voices scream at him again.

But when she looked at it from afar, these kids were special. They were in a place they didn't want to be in, but were forced to. They knew basic things like how to count, spell, talk. 

But they didn't know what it was like to be free, to be able to go wherever you want. Or how to love.

They didn't know anything about love, besides the affection that Lena gave. And Lena did care about them, every single one of them. Because they're all human, and that's how Lena would treat them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE COMING SOON LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS IF U ENJOYED IT MAYBE CHAPTER 2 OUT LATER???


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of background info :) i'll start on dream's pov soon! im really excited for it.

**_Ranboo_ **

Now, Ranboo wasn't an idiot. 

He liked thinking he was rather intelligent for his age. Which, was somewhat true. He easily did well for his exams. His mother loved him, doted on her young son. 

Ranboo never had an empty mind. He was always thinking, and when he was not, there would be a voice speaking in his mind. A voice, that belonged to him, but wasn't his actual thoughts. Ranboo didn't know in what situations would the voice wake up, but he wasn't a fan of its services.

It would whisper to him, while he was watching the news, of a fire that happened at an apartment. "Were you the one who burnt it?" the voice would ask, knowingly. As though it knew something that Ranboo didn't. 

When Ranboo was 8, the voice told him, to kill his math teacher. Just because she grew to dislike Ranboo's wit and sharp tongue. The voice kept telling him, "Do it. Do it," 

Ranboo never did. 

Until, one day, he listened. 

Ranboo was 10 years old, when his father and him went out, to visit an old man. The old man was an old friend's of Ranboo's grandfather. So naturally, he was a family friend. Ranboo didn't want to visit this man, to be honest.

But he was dragged out anyway by his father. When he did meet the old man, Ranboo couldn't really remember exactly what happened that day.

He remembered small glimpses though. He remembered glaring at him when he called Ranboo too skinny, too tall. He remembered the old man talking about how Ranboo was a show-off due to his brain. 

He remembered the old man saying a bunch of bullshit, while Ranboo himself had clenched fists at the side, holding his anger in. The voices were screaming at him, to do what, he wish he could remember.

He remembered his father leaving to get something, leaving Ranboo alone with the old man who said nothing but criticism.

Ranboo remembered holding the hilt of a knife. 

Ranboo remembered walking up to the old man.

Ranboo remembered lifting the knife.

Ranboo remembered the blade sinking in, like a fork in a sponge.

His clothes had became wet. It was all stained. His favourite jacket too. The nasty, red, sticky wet substance of blood was all over him.

He tried washing it off, but failed. His white jacket was stained pink now. 

Gross.

He remembered leaving the house, to get something to wash away the pink. For once, the voices in his head were pleased with him. Like he did something right.

He remembered someone rushing up to him, concerned over the blood stained on his shoes.

Oh no. He forgot to wash the blood off his shoes. They were his favourite pair of shoes too. The voices were mad now.

How could you forget to wash your shoes? Stupid.

Ranboo remembered the stranger calling the police. He remembered gesturing over to the old friend's house, saying he came from there.

Ranboo remembered the sirens. He remembered being questioned. He remembered being put into the back of a police car as they went into the old man's house, that was just down the street.

He watched, as the police entered the house, bringing out his papa, who had stained clothes too.

Silly papa, Ranboo had thought. He didn't wash his clothes.

In his father's hands, the blade that Ranboo had used. He could hear the shouting coming from his father and the policeman. 

His father was yelling "I didn't do it, you got the wrong guy," 

The policeman took the knife from his father, placing handcuffs on him. 

Ranboo watched. 

The voices were laughing. "Look what you've done Ranboo, you made a mess" 

His shoes were still stained deep red, his jacket still pink. He could feel tears welling up. Surely his mother would be mad at him, the shoes were quite new.

He remembered the policeman talking to him, softly. Telling him how the old man was dead.

As though Ranboo cared. He didn't even know the old man's name.

He remembered the police station, his mother running in and hugging Ranboo. Hugging him so tight as though she never wanted to let go. He could feel his clothes becoming wet.

His mother was crying.

Mama was crying. But why? Mama was never sad. She was always happy. 

"Your papa did a bad thing," she had said.

The voices told him, "You did it. You're the one, not your papa"

Ranboo ignored them. 

He remembered the court, the screaming, the shouting. His father pleading not guilty. He remembered his mother gripping his shoulder, sobbing softly.

He remembered being questioned. "Where were you at the scene of the crime?" 

The voices answered for him. Told him what to say. "I returned to the house to see him already like that, I knelt down to the floor to help him get up, but he wouldn't. I even tried pulling the knife out, but I'm not strong enough," 

Was that the truth? 

It felt like it. 

Ranboo wouldn't do anything wrong. His mother could vouch for that. And she did.

The fingerprints on the knife were examined, and the only ones they found were Ranboo's and his father's. 

His father got arrested.

He remembered his mama hugging him everynight, crying. He remembered her holding his hand, apologising for his father's actions.

He remembered the news, saying his father had committed suicide in his cell. Using pipes. 

"Your father is gone, and it's all your fault" the voices told him.

That was true.

He remembered telling his mother. That he did it. He told his mama, he was the one who took the knife and put it into the old man. He remembered telling her that, knowing that she would always forgive him. She told him to always tell the truth, and Ranboo wasn't lying.

Surely she'd forgive him.

Ranboo told her, told her everything. About the voices, and what they told him to do. About the knife, about the old man. Why he lied. And that he was sorry.

She didn't forgive him.

Ranboo didn't remember what happened after he admitted the truth, but the last thing he remembered was being dragged to a big hospital-like building. He was crying, clawing at his mother. He didn't know where he was, he didn't like it.

The voices were telling him to kill his mother. He didn't want to do that, he loved his mother. And she loved him, she was just angry.

He was brought to an office, where he saw a lady with soft brown eyes and dark hair talking to his mother. They were in an arguement, it looked like.

"I can't accept children who have no mental issues, ma'am," the dark haired lady said firmly.

"You'll take my son. He's mental. If that's your condition, he ticks all the boxes. He murdered a man. It's all his fault, that my family is broken. It's that stupid child's fault! " his mother cried. "He hears voices. The voices told him to do what he did. And if you wont take him in, I'll kill him myself," 

Ranboo was horrified hearing that, for once, he was terrified of his own mother. He wanted to run, away from her, away from this stupid building. 

"Voices?" The dark haired woman repeated.

Ranboo didn't want to hear it anymore. He ran, away from the office, down a corridor with closed doors. Until someone stopped him, grabbing his arm.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't be running. You'll fall," the person had a British accent.

Ranboo looked to see a teenager, around his height. This teenager had blonde hair and braces.

"I don't reckon I've seen you before. Are you new? I'm Tommy. Is that your mother in there, screaming at Lena?" The blonde boy asked, pointing towards the office. 

Ranboo nodded. "I'm... I'm Ranboo," 

Another boy came from the door closest to them, this boy was slightly shorter than the two. He had brown hair, and looked up at Ranboo with slight interest.

He turned to Tommy and began doing hand signs.

Sign Language.

"Hey Tubbo! Ranboo, meet Tubbo, my best friend," Tommy introduced. 

"I don't get it, what did he do sign language for?"

"Tubbo here has PTSD, so he has selective mutism. He doesn't speak. He hasn't spoken for about, 2 years? Since he was placed here. You're in a mental hospital, so its kind of like a freak show. If you're planning to stay, you'll probably be taught sign language. There's mute people like Tubbo, and deaf people, and crazy people,"

Tubbo didn't seem impressed by Tommy's explanation, looking away. He pointed to the office, then back at Ranboo, tilting his head.

"Yeah Ranboo, why are you here? What's up, why is your mother dearest screaming?" Tommy asked. 

"I didn't do anything," Ranboo said immediately.

"Sure. That's why she dragged you to a mental hospital," laughed Tommy. "No secrets here Ranboo, what's up?" 

Ranboo hesitated. "I think I killed a man," 

To his surprise, Tommy laughed. 

"Awesome. I'm have this thing called Airan Disorder. I'm basically the happiest person in the world. My whole family is dead," Tommy said, grinning. 

Tubbo frowned. He looked at Ranboo, shaking his head slightly. Ranboo just stared at Tommy. Happiest person in the world didn't seem that great...

"They died, and eventhough I was a lucky bitch who survived, I couldn't feel sad for them. I don't feel sad at all. That's why I was brought here. I got attacked by muggers more times than I can count on my fingers. And the whole time, I could do nothing but smile and scream,"

-

"Where's Mama?" Ranboo asked, entering the office where his mother had talked to the lady, Lena, if he remembered correctly. 

Lena looked at him, sympathy etched on her face. Ranboo knew that look. The same look that the policemen kept giving him when he was put in the back of the car. 

"Your Mama just had to go somewhere, okay Ranboo? I'll take care of you from now on. You'll be safe with me," she said softly, opening her arms out. 

Ranboo hesitated, but walked into them anyway. He could feel the warmth as Lena hugged him, genuine hope to spark affection in him. His mother never hugged him like that before.

And here, a stranger was, hugging him.

"Is she coming back?" Ranboo whispered, terrified of the answer.

Lena didn't respond, but her silence spoke volumes. She pulled away from him, looking into his eyes. 

"It's okay Ranboo, I'm here," she said.

"She doesn't want you. She left you here. She thinks you're insane, and you are. Lena probably doesn't want you either. Everything was your fault, you're the reason why. Its all your fault, Ranboo," The voices were chanting again. 

"Help me," Ranboo spoke, feeling tears rolling down his cheeks. 

Lena hugged him tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: tommy's disorder isn't real
> 
> hope u enjoyed this :)


	4. Chapter 4

**_Clay_ **

He was running.

He ran to the lift at the end of the corridor, stepping in and spamming the close button. 

His mother should be here, she promised. She promised him yesterday, that she'd visit him. And Clay knew that his mother would never lie to him. 

Clay felt jumpy, jittery inside the lift. He was always excited to see his mother. 

He ignored the sounds of each level as the lift descended, each level varying in sounds from sounds like drills, screaming, fighting and who knows what else.

The young innocence he had, even as a teenager. He didn't know his own past, what he was doing there. He supposed amnesia, but that didn't explain much. People got amnesia everyday.

He remembered, Lena had his drawing. Fuck. He had hoped to give that to his mother. It was fine, though. He could just give it later. 

Clay had remembered where the visiting area was, outside the hospital, near the drop off area, away from the wards. 

Gates surrounded the perimeter of the hospital, a forest beside it. Clay wondered if the gates were meant to keep animals out, or to keep patients in.

Outside the hospital, was a normal looking garden. There had once been a pond, but was now covered with a long black cloth-like material. There had been rumors about someone who had tried drowning themselves in it.

Beside the garden, a playground. It had once been open to both patients and visitors, so any young kids who were visiting a relative could play there. Unfortunately, more than one horrible incident had occurred at the playground, involving some mentally psychotic kids and average ones. Since that day, the playground, and the asylum grounds in general, were banned from anyone besides the close relatives, such as parents, of the patient. 

At the playground at that moment, were two young boys. Both had a red tag on their wrists, signifying the fact that they were both patients at the hospital. The taller one was sitting idly on the swing set, talking to the one who was on the floor, playing with the sand. 

Clay recognized them, they had been the ones who hung out together an awful lot. Tommy and Tubbo, if he remembered correctly. They had been there yesterday, along with a couple other kids, when his mother left him there. After she promised to come back. 

"Clay! Hey, Clay! Where're you going?" Tommy yelled out, spotting him. Tubbo looked up.

Who's Clay? Clay wondered. He went up to them anyway.

"Sup Clay? Where were you going?" Tommy asked.

"Visitor's area," Clay said.

"Not this bullshit again. Clay, your mother isn't coming back. You've been at this for a month. Normally you don't even leave the compound, cause Lena would just grab you before you enter the lift and tell you that your darling mother would come tomorrow," Tommy whined. Tubbo stared at his friend with wide eyes. Tommy was brutally honest, saying that to Clay's face like that.

Clay was certainly confused, to say the least. He opened his mouth, to say something, he wasn't sure what yet, when he could hear people shouting.

Tommy stood up instantly, something you pick up from 2 years of living near psychos. Tubbo did the same.

The 3 boys turned to the entrance of the asylum, to see Lena running towards them. Behind her, a blonde man, dressed in green, and a white striped bucket hat. Beside this strange foreign man, was Ranboo. 

"Clay, oh my goodness there you are," Lena said, sighing, running forward to hug him.

The blonde man walked up beside Lena, looking at Clay with narrowed eyes. He was scrutinizing the boy, looking at him up and down.

Ranboo on the other hand, stopped a few steps behind the man, holding out a hand as a wave to Tommy, who returned it.

"Who's this, then?" Tommy asked, gesturing to the man, who turned to Tommy as though he didn't realise that Tommy was there.

"My name's Philza. I'm an investigator, I'll be spending a lot of time at this asylum for the next few weeks or so, so don't be too afraid of me," Philza held out a hand.

Tommy laughed. "Couldn't be scared if I tried. That was dark humor by the way. Airan, you know," He shook Philza's hand.

"Investigator... what's he here to investigate?" Clay asked Lena, who was still close to him. 

"Nothing, Clay. Nothing," Lena shot a glare at Philza. 

"You'll see eventually, Clay. But do share with me, what were you doing out here?" Philza asked, putting a comforting hand on Clay's shoulders.

"You keep calling me Clay. Who's that?" Clay asked.

"Right, Phil, can I call you that by the way? Whatever, he doesn't remember shit. He's got something- something wrong with his head," Tommy piped up.

Lena gave Tommy a look, and pointed back to the building, gesturing for Tommy and his friends to take their leave. 

"You don't... remember?" Philza asked, his eyes widening. 

"Remember what? I remember a few things. Not everything though, like why I'm here," Clay said, confused by Philza's reaction.

"Do you know, how long you've been here?" Philza questioned again.

Clay could feel Lena's hand on his shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"Thats enough Philza," Lena said stiffly.

Philza didn't seem to hear her, or care enough to stop. "Clay, answer me. Do you even know who you are? Do you... not remember what happened that day?" 

"I've been here for one day. My mother left me here yesterday. I'm... I'm me. I don't know. What day was that, what happened that day?" Clay was getting scared. 

"Philza," Lena said firmly this time. This caught the investigator's attention.

"I'm not letting you tell him. Do not tell him," Lena said.

"Wait, I want to know," Clay protested.

"I think he should know," Philza argued back to the nurse. "Maybe we shouldn't tell him about that day. But don't leave him in the dark. Tell him why he's here,"

Clay stared at Lena, who looked at him. Sadness in her eyes, for she was going to watch the boy break in front of her, as she had sworn never to do again.

"You have memory loss kid. You've been doing the same shit for a whole month, since you were brought here. Your mother last visited you a whole month ago. I don't know what happened to her, that's a separate investigation. But everyday has been the same for you. Lena here, wanted to protect you. So she let you repeat each day," Philza stared at Clay in the eyes as he spoke, but there was more emotion in his eyes. Something that Clay couldn't quite understand.

"Wh-why didn't you tell me?" Clay asked, turning to Lena. He didn't know what to feel, what he should be feeling. He wanted to be angry, but did he even have the right?

"I wanted to protect you. You suffered from amnesia, so you knew almost nothing the day you came here. It saddened me so much, because it was such a small yet large obstacle in your life. I thought the amnesia was it, until you woke up two days later, doing the exact same thing you did the day before. You thought your mother would come back. She isn't coming back, Clay. I didn't know how to tell you, because I did tell you, the fifth day. You were so upset by it and I..." 

Clay couldn't hear it any longer.

He ran away. 

Away from Lena, away from Philza. 

He had been lied to. Based on Lena's explanation, she didn't seem to have a very legitimate reason either. Why didn't she just tell him? Is that the reason why he had no friends?

How many days had it been?

Would he forget today too?

He didn't want to. He just wanted to be normal. Almost nothing was normal anymore. He could hear Lena calling him in the distance, but she didn't come after him, the way she always would to kids that she had to bear bad news to.

Clay would bet anything it was Philza who stopped her.

He entered the asylum, running down the corridor. He was crying softly, he had never cried before. Or, not that he remembered.

What about his father? Did his father not care?

While running and wiping his tears, Clay didn't notice someone else standing along the corridor. Right where he was running. 

"Fuck!" he yelled out, but the person didn't move. 

He crashed into the person, both of them yelling out as they both fell to the floor.

"Oh my god, I'm so, so, sorry! Are you okay? Did you yell out? I have post-lingual deafness. Are you alright, why are you crying?" 

Clay looked to see a boy, around his age, sitting on the floor, rubbing his head. He had a white bandana around his head, the cloth covering his ears. He was wearing a white T-Shirt, with a black tee under it. 

Clay had never seen him before, but Clay couldn't remember a lot of of people.

"Do you not have hearing aids?" Clay complained.

The boy tilted his head. "Dude. The deafness, I can't fucking hear you," He gestured to his ears.

Clay groaned. He gestured to his own ears, and mouthed out 'hearing aids'. 

"I think you mean hearing aids. You see, funny story. I lost them. Do you speak sign language? I know that shit," the boy said. "Oh yeah, where are my manners? My name's Nick," 

Clay hesitated. He remembered being taught sign language, but not by who. 

"Yes I do. I'm... I'm Dream," Clay gestured with his hands to Nick. 

"Dream's a cool name," Nick gestured back. "Help me find my hearing aids, dude. They're somewhere in this corridor,"

Surprisingly, while Nick was deaf, he could actually be blind, due to the hearing aids being a stone's throw from where Nick had been searching. 

"Awesome. So anyway, why were you running and crying like that?" Nick asked, walking with Clay back up to the wards as he inserted the hearing aids into his ears under the bandana.

"I was lied to. I guess, I just.. I don't know. Its a long story," Clay sighed.

"One of those, huh? Well. I've got all day, and we're friends right? You helped me find my hearing 

aids. So that makes us bros?" Nick offered.

"Yeah, I guess we are," Clay said, smiling slightly.

His first friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So is Lena a good, or bad person for what she did? What are you guys' opinion?
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter :))  
> Do leave comments or kudos if you enjoyed it!


	5. Chapter 5

_**Dream** _

Nick was an interesting character.

Unnecessarily energetic, but seemed to enjoy threatening Dream a lot. He told Dream of his best friend that he had met in the hospital, who was undergoing surgery.

“His name is George,” explained Nick, sitting down beside Dream’s bed, flipping idly through an old DC heroes comic book. “My dude’s blind, and he's British. Pick a struggle, am I right?” 

Dream scoffed, finding Nick’s humor just as interesting as Nick himself was. Part of him felt like Nick would be a good fit with Tommy’s character, having the same kind of humor.

He had mentioned this to Nick, who had scrunched up his nose in disgust, saying he wasn't interested in talking to the other kids. Part of Dream still wondered about what the Investigator had said earlier, about his memory.

“Nick, if I forgot what we did today, would you remind me?” Dream asked, looking at his new friend. He had already explained to Nick what had happened in the outside perimeter with Lena and Philza, about his memory loss. He wasn't sure himself on how it worked, but he was scared. That he would wake up, and not remember Nick. And if he doesn't remember Nick, he would lose his only friend in the whole hospital.

“No sweat Dream. I'll write it all down in a book for you. So you can just read it,” Nick suggested, getting up and taking a pen and paper pad from the drawer beside the bed. He tore off a strip of paper, and scribbled on it in his messy handwriting.

_Dream has memory loss._

_He met me. I’m Nick._

_Remember me._

Dream looked at the three sentences written by Nick and rolled his eyes, how effective those sentences were. But for some reason, as he picked up the paper to look at it, he felt almost certain, maybe he would finally remember.

“Clay! Lunch,” Ranboo peaked his head in the doorframe, looking half into Dream’s room. The top part of his half white and half black hair was sticking out, along with his eyes. When Dream looked back at Ranboo, the latter ducked away. 

“Clay?” Nick asked warily. 

“Yeah… I think that's my name,” Clay felt embarrassed by his statement. Which loser doesn't remember their own name?

Nick didn't reply, he simply took the paper and wrote another sentence.

_Your name is Clay._

“Go for lunch, Clay.” Nick emphasised the name, holding out the piece of paper towards his new friend. Clay looked at the paper, taking it from Nick.

“Write down whatever feels important. I have some registration to do, so I don't think I'm coming down for lunch. But tell me what you learn,” Nick shoved the pen he used into Clay’s hands, and walked away.

Clay decided to write one final sentence, before heading to lunch.

_Solve my past. What happened that night, what does the investigator want?_

-

Clay didn't know the last time he actually came down for lunch in the hospital cafeteria, if there even ever was a time that he actually did. But him seeing Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo were the only familiar faces. 

They were all seated at the corner of the cafeteria, closest to the door. The other seats were for the other patients of the asylum, and lunch times were staggered, to protect both the children and adults from each other. The teens were all occupying one table, Tommy in the middle of Tubbo and Ranboo, with the blonde girl and the boy in the black hoodie were a distance apart.

There was one boy at the table that Clay didn't recognise . And one girl. The girl was isolated from the rest, her short blonde hair over her eyes as she stared at nothing. She had a plate in front of her, but it was empty. The other boy was more normal, him being dressed in a dark hoodie, lazily poking at his food. 

“Niki, you forgot your food. Plate’s empty,” Tommy called out with a laugh, startling the blonde girl who looked up, as though shocked that she was being addressed by him.

“Woah, look who's here. Ranboo finally did his job,” Tommy finally noticed Clay, standing at the entryway of the cafeteria, fidgeting awkwardly. Ranboo, turned red, slightly embarrassed by Tommy’s remark.

“Hi!” The boy in the black hoodie seemed to have noticed Clay too, waving at him to come over to them. Everyone was now looking at Clay, with the exception of the blonde girl, whose head was down. 

“I'm Darryl, nice to meet you!” the boy said. Clay sat beside Darryl, away from Niki who still hadn't looked up.

“I'm Clay,” Clay introduced himself to Darryl.

Tommy began cheering and whooping. “Big man finally knows his name! Pogchamp!”

Clay chose to ignore Tommy, getting up to go get food from the stalls around. He could see Niki watching him from the corner of his eyes, through her blonde bangs. Her eyes were following him, chills running up Clay’s spine. 

When he came back, she was gone.

“That's Niki for you,” Tommy grinned. “She comes and goes as she pleases. She's delusional I think, she thinks she's still at home. She doesn't eat a lot. She eats once a week?” 

Clay frowned, looking at the doorway where Niki had left. He looked around the table, at everyone's wrists. Sure enough, red tags. But Darryl had a blue one along with his red one. His blue tag had three letters on it.

SPW.

Darryl seemed to realise that Clay was staring at his blue tag, because he laughed bitterly, his hand moving to his tag to play with it.

“Suicide prevention ward. 4 times I've tried, 4 times I've failed,” Darryl said softly, pulling back his sleeves a little. There were red lines, criss crossing each other. Each of them done clumsily, with little thought. 

The table had got silent, Tommy was grinning still but was eating. Tubbo, too, was playing with his food. Ranboo was staring at Darryl’s wrist, as though it interested him the most. Darryl seemed to have realised Ranboo’s level of interest, so he brought his sleeve back over his arm, turning slightly red.

Clay looked at Ranboo. Ranboo stuck out like a sore thumb among them all at the table. He was the only one with dual coloured hair, black and white. His skin was pale, white, his face lacked colour. He wore black and white gloves that went up to his wrists. He seemed to be going for the whole white and black aesthetic.

Ranboo, however, seemed like he was in his own world. As though he was somewhere else. He stared at Darryl’s wrist, even though there was nothing left to see. His eyes were just frozen at where Darryl’s wrist was. 

Band of freaks, thought Clay. He was being mean, he knew. But he also knew that he didn't belong there. It was probably a mistake, perhaps his mother and father would come back soon, or someone with cameras would come out and yell ‘April’s Fools’ and say it was all a social experiment. But what were the odds of that? He couldn't remember his own name. A small conversation had struck at the table, started by Tommy who was complaining about his therapist. Tubbo was chiming in too with his sign language, and it was surprising to Clay, how Tommy was actually able to understand what Tubbo meant.

Some friendships just form in the oddest situations. Clay thought of Nick, and Nick’s friend George. Maybe the whole hospital thing wouldn't be that bad. 

Pulling out the piece of paper that Nick had given him, Clay wrote.

_Tommy has Airan._

_Tubbo is mute._

_Darryl is suicidal._

_Niki is delusional._

_Nick is deaf._

_George is blind._

_I lost my memory._

_Ranboo... Ranboo._

Clay could feel Ranboo’s eyes on him, as though Ranboo knew that he was writing his name. Ranboo seemed friendly enough, but his disorders simply weren't clear to Clay. It was like Ranboo's disorder was just zoning out. But there was something else, there had to be.

But Clay needed to know his own story, before learning about others.


	6. Chapter 6

Screaming, shouting. 

Loud noises. 

Heat. 

The smell of smoke. 

What was that sound?

Hello? 

No one could hear him. He was screaming, wasn't he? The shouting of the crowd was getting louder, but he couldn't see. It was like he was getting a birthday surprise, but it wasn't his birthday. When was his birthday? 

Help. 

Help.

No one was coming, he was alone. 

Surrounded by the heat, the sound of flames licking the walls. He was shaking, he could hear the screaming. It was growing softer. 

Were people leaving? Were they planning to leave him behind? Just like people from his past. He was going to be alone, alone to die.

He could hear someone, someone calling. 

Someone coughing as loud footsteps bounded up, they were calling. For him? Was someone finally here to help? Someone was coming, he wasn't alone anymore.

He still couldn't see, but he could hear. And boy, he could hear them calling. Not for him.

For someone else. 

“Help!” he called out, one last feeble attempt at his life, before mentally deciding to give up. Perhaps it was now his time. It was over for him.

The box of matches laid just underneath his fingertips.

_It's all your fault_. The voices said.

_You're going to die alone._

All alone.

As Ranboo blacked out, he heard the door slam open.

_What had he done..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what does this mean :0


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New addition

“Meet George,” Nick came into Clay’s room, grinning from ear to ear, despite the bandana covering his ears. Clay, who had been sitting on his bed, looked up. To his surprise, there was actually someone beside Nick. And that someone, was not what he expected. Well, the goggles were the unexpected one.

Beside Nick, fidgeting awkwardly, was a brown haired teen, dressed in a blue T-shirt with jeans. Over his eyes, were large goggles that literally hid his eyes. Clay remembered that George was blind, but Nick had appeared to have forgotten to mention the fact that George wore goggles.

“Hello,” George spoke, his voice soft. Clay grinned, before remembering, George couldn't see him. But at least Nick was right about the fact that George was British.

“Hey George,” Clay walked up, hesitating in front of George. He didn't know what to do, should he hug the teen?

Was he allowed to? George didn't look like he gave good hugs, he looked much too awkward for that. But Clay couldn't help think it was rather endearing.

“You can shake his hand you know,” Nick rolled his eyes, shoving George forward, earning a yelp from the Brit.

“Gogy, shake.” Nick laughed.

George clicked his tongue loudly, reaching out to slap Nick on the shoulder. That's when Clay grabbed his hand, startling the blind boy. Clay was frozen too, he had no idea what he had just did.

“Is that… you Clay?” George asked, his other hand reaching out to grab Clay’s wrist. George ran his fingers over Clay’s wrist, causing a blush on the blonde boy’s cheeks. “Nick told me about you,” George added.

Clay looked up at Nick, tearing his eyes away from George’s hands. George’s gentle hands, that made Clay’s heart skip a beat for some reason. George treated Clay like the one who couldn't see.

“You guys are hitting it off way too well,” Nick commented sarcastically. 

George laughed. He had a really nice smile, in Clay’s opinion. Nick had a nice smile too. They radiate positive energy, good vibes despite their situations. That despite the fact that their friendship was built in a mental hospital, it was still a friendship.

“I cannot see you, Clay,” George commented, an edge of sadness to his voice as he squeezed his hand.

“Nah, you wouldn't want to see me. I'm mediocre looking at best,” Clay said, using his other hand to scratch the nape of his neck. 

“Bet not,”

“Okay fine, you're both sexy as hell now shut up and let's do something else,” Nick said, laughing slightly. He took George by the hand, pulling him towards Clay’s bed. George tentatively sat down, as Nick walked up to Clay’s desk and slumped down.

Clay grinned at his two new friends, what a life he lived, huh? Alone, away from his family who probably just didn't love him anymore. But he had a new one, in the form of two teenage boys he had met.

“I can't even see,” George commented, sounding upset. Of course, his disorder was the worst among the 3. At least Nick had his useful hearing aids. Despite him losing them everyday, they still came in handy when he found them. 

“I'll be your eyes, George. And when Nick loses his hearing aids again, I can be his ears,” Clay suggested, only realising how cheesy his sentence was, after he said it. 

But George and Nick didn't seem to think it was cheesy at all. Rather, both their smiles became wider, George actually letting out a small laugh of happiness.

“I'd like that,” George affirmed.

“We’ll be your mind, Clay. If you forget something, you can just ask us. We'll know. Or, we can help you write inside your paper,” Nick mentioned.

“Paper?” George asked.

Nick began explaining Clay’s situation to George. Clay didn't pay attention, reverting his attention away from his two friends. He looked at the door, which George had left ajar. There, a blonde head. The female from lunch earlier, Niki. The delusional one.

“Hi?” Clay called out to her.

Niki looked up at him. Nick looked up at Niki too, as Niki looked around the room. “Hi.” she spoke. Her voice was so soft. So quiet. Innocent.

But it was obvious that Niki had been through her own shit. “This isn't my room…” she asked, walking in. 

“Yeah, it's not.” Clay replied. “Say hi to George and Nick, Niki.” 

“Hello Nick and George.” Niki whispered, walking away almost as soon as she uttered those words. She didn't even bother giving Clay a second look. She certainly didn't spare Nick or George a look either.

“What's wrong with her?” Nick asked, gesturing towards the door with a finger.

“Did someone enter?” George asked.

“Welcome to 6 minutes ago, George. Keep up with the fucking programme,” snapped Nick, earning a wince from the blind goggled boy.

Clay rolled his eyes, ignoring the two bickering. It sounded like it was something he was going to see a lot of. And that made him happy. It made him happy, the smallest things. Because these small things were normal things. Normal things between friends, between the patients in the hospitals that in the end they were still who they were.

“Did you guys see the investigator?” Clay asked, interrupting their bickering.

“That's rude,” George huffed, earning a laugh from Nick, who laughed as though George had just uttered the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

The smallest things.

“I didn't see anyone. I saw that woman, but that's pretty much it. She was alone, though. Why is there an investigator here anyway? It's not a crime scene?” Nick asked, curiously.

Clay laughed bitterly. 

“Nick, I  _ am _ the crime scene. Something happened a while back, that made me lose my memories. Apparently whatever information the investigator has, isn't enough for him to be satisfied with the case. So now, it's up to me to try and remember. Whatever happened that night,”

Nick started, his mouth an ‘O’ shape. He seemed impressed with what Clay had said. 

“No sweat, Clay.” George assured him. “With our help, you'll be just fine. We’d remind you. And I'll help you invest in a proper book. Using scrap paper is one way to lose stuff,” 

Nick began yelling out his objections to George’s proposal, but Clay couldn't help but agree with George’s suggestion. 

Pulling out a pen and the paper from earlier, Clay wrote.

_ Nick and George argue a lot. Like siblings. _

And so, their friendship started. They began talking, about George’s surgery, and how George thought it was useless. About the hospital, and the sketchiness of it. Of theories on some of the patients they had either met or seen, although for George, that was hard. Clay quickly grew fond of the two in the few hours they had spent together. He grew fond of the way Nick laughed. The way Nick’s eyes seemed to do the talking for him at times when his laughs wasn't enough to show the amount of serotonin running through his veins. 

George’s smile, his voice. His eyes couldn't speak for him, so he spoke using his actions. He would hold Nick’s hand when Nick spoke of a time when he fell off a bike in middle school and twisted his ankle. The way he yawned softly, leaning on Clay, his brown hair brushing against Clay’s shoulder, giving him a small sense of comfort and security thay felt so unfamiliar yet recognizable for Clay.

Clay couldn't share much , because he couldn't remember anything. But small bits of memories that he did remember, like going to the beach with childhood friends when he was young. Hugging his parents, feeling the dampness of rain as he ran home from school with someone, laughing. Memories from a time long gone, but Nick would write it all down. He called it a diary.

To slowly gain back memories. 

George would name events that would be considered a milestone in a child’s life. Like their first pet, their first exam. Their friends. 

Anything Clay mentioned, Nick would jot it down like a dedicated journalist. Like his entire purpose was to document Clay’s life. George would fill in gaps too, helping Clay make sense of what his memories were. 

“Your past life sounds incredible. Do you think you miss it?” George asked, after Nick read out what he had written so far of Clay’s childhood.

Clay shrugged. “I don't know. This life isn't that bad you know,” 

“It's because of me,” Nick joked, earning a punch on the shoulder by George.

They bickered again, and Clay smiled.

The smallest things.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, i just want you guys to know, that this story has been planned out. I have an ending in mind, and a possible prequel/ sequel in mind. But I haven't had a lot of time to write. I promise I will write more from now on! But do keep in mind, I'm a student so I do have exams!
> 
> Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahhahahahh hello im back

She found Philza in the hospital teen lounge. He was watching Ranboo with a curious expression, as the teen played chess with Tubbo. Tommy and Darryl said beside the two, Darryl occasionally nudging Tubbo to suggest something. Tommy simply cheered, as though he was watching a football tournament.

“I think I got this.” Ranboo commented with a grin, moving his rook. 

Tubbo hadn't even looked up, when Ranboo suddenly spoke again. “Yeah, I’m gonna fail. I don't got this.”

Philza watched, as none of the other patients bothered responding or even batting an eye to Ranboo’s sudden negativity. As though they were very used to it already.

Lena walked up beside the detective at the doorway, looking into their game of chess too. The teens had yet to notice their presence. Lena watched as Darryl reached out, gesturing for Tubbo to move his pawn forward. Darryl looked excited, almost standing in his chair as he leaned out to help Tubbo. Unfortunately for him, Ranboo had predicted that, moving his knight forward and trapping both the pawn and their bishop. 

“Dang it. Sorry Tubbo.” Darryl murmured, sitting back in his chair.

Tubbo shrugged, continuing the game as Ranboo swiftly knocked down his bishop. 

Darryl didn't seem to dismiss it as easily as Tubbo, instead his fingers flew to his wrist, and began scratching slightly, not to cause blood. But to punish himself slightly, as the skin turned red.

“Darryl. Your wrist.” Lena spoke out instantly when Darryl began his action. 

The teens all jumped at Lena’s sudden intrusion. Darryl seemed even more guilty, pulling his hoodie sleeve over his wrist more. 

“I don't want to leave you in the ward alone with a nurse, Darryl. Don't you like it better with your friends?” Lena asked, folding her arms.

Darryl nodded guiltily. “Sorry.” 

Lena shook her head, walking forward and giving Darryl a quick hug. Ranboo and Tubbo had already continued their chess game, no longer interested in Lena’s surprise entrance, although Ranboo suddenly felt the urge to win while Lena was still in the room. He looked sadly back as Lena ruffled his hair quickly, walking back to Philza.

“Isn't there meant to be a girl, among you?” Philza asked, gesturing to the teens.

Tubbo and Ranboo exchanged looks as they looked back at Tommy. “Niki? You mean? She's in the insanity ward. They don't let her roam around too much. She might walk out a window.” Tommy said in his usual cheerful tone. Philza turned to look at Lena, for confirmation. The blonde female simply nodded.

“We should let them be. Besides, you have something to show me now, detective? It's getting late.” Lena said.

Philza nodded, as Lena led him to her office. 

-

“This is all I have to show you.” Philza pushed the large brown envelope towards Lena over her desk. In her office, again they were. Lena was hesitant, but she picked up the envelope gently. Opening it, revealing a simple document. 

She scanned through it, frowning.

“Is this it?” she asked softly.

Philza returned her sad look, his hands reaching out towards the envelope, shaking slightly. “Unfortunately yes. There weren't many witnesses. Clay, he's the only one. I need him to get his memory back Lena. I need him to.” Philza’s hand went into the dark brown envelope, the crackle of the envelope’s material breaking the dead silence between them.

Lena watched as Philza pulled out two photos from the envelope. She could feel her breathing quicken as she looked at the pictures. She couldn't imagine what tragedy had struck that day. And more than ever, she didn't want to put Clay through the pain of remembering it. 

The pictures in her hands, they were evidence of Philza’s pain, the reason why he was at the asylum and why he wouldn't leave until he figured out the truth.

“I don't know if he has the mental capacity to remember, Philza. I'm sorry about this, but there's nothing I can do that won't overexert Clay. His mind is fragile, his heart is fragile, he's been abandoned. Just like every other kid here. I can't go to him, and just grill him over what happened that day. No matter how much I wish I can give you the closure you need.”

“I'm doing my job Lena. I'm an investigator, a detective. I have to do this. For everyone involved that day.”

Lena looked at Philza. She knew so much more than Philza thought she knew. Lena had seen Philza before, she knew what was the additional story behind Philza. She knew it all, and as she had said, she wished she could help. But her priorities weren't with Philza’s problems. Her priorities were with the kids, the young teens under her care at the asylum.

Philza sighed, reaching out to keep the document, placing the pictures back into the envelope. 

“Do you mind, if I talk to the kids here? I won't overexert their mental states. I'll try not to, at least. I just want to talk to some of them.” 

Lena didn't enjoy the sound of that, opening her mouth to voice her disapproval of Philza’s idea. But eventually, her eyes fell onto the cabinet beneath her desk. The cabinet that held all of Clay’s drawings. Along with them, some pieces by the others.

Ranboo’s voices. Words scribbled in red ink. Ranboo had cried that day, when he made that drawing. He walked straight into Lena’s arms, sobbing. 

Darryl’s thoughts. The horrible, horrible thoughts that seemed to consume him. The scars on his wrist and marks done by his family who never loved him. The way they were all drawn on the paper, for Lena to look at it. Darryl didn't cry that day, but Lena did. She cried for Darryl, his inability to cry for himself because he was just so fucking used to the pain.

Niki’s drawings. Of her family, of her delusional thoughts that her family was out there looking for her. That she was just like Luna Lovegood in Harry Potter, according to Niki herself. She was a daydreamer, she claimed. But daydreamers didn't talk about how much their father loved them, when their father did nothing but be a bigger monster than monsters under the bed.

Family was a touchy subject in asylum, having people who would throw a fit at mention of their family. And having those who would have a mental breakdown, some who would just sob at their family who left them. The family who stopped loving them because of something that happened. 

“Fine. You can talk to them. Please, Philza. I beg. Know when it's too much. You'll be able to tell. Look at their eyes, they'll zone out. Their hands, they'll grip nothing, they'll become sweaty and ball into fists. They'll get nervous, but they won't say anything because they'll be scared.” Lena said carefully, shutting her eyes. She thought of each child in the hospital, each child that seemed to lose everything.

Philza lost more than he would say as well.

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i actually have so much planned for this story im so hyped omg
> 
> do leave comments and kudos if you enjoyed, they mean so much


	9. Chapter 9

**Clay**

“Hey! Clay! Wake up. Oh my god, you sleep like a fucking pig. Holy- Wake up!” 

Clay could feel someone shaking him, rather aggressively. The first time he was ever woken up by someone, as far as he could remember. He opened his eyes, to see a black haired boy, staring at him. Nick was kneeling down, so that he was eye level with Clay.

_What time does this guy wake up?_ Clay thought to himself, as he sat up.

The curtains over his window near his bed weren't even drawn, Nick was watching him tentatively. A sound caught his attention, to see George stumbling slightly.

“Careful George.” Clay muttered, a slight alarm in his voice when he saw the blind boy grab the edge of the table for support, looking slightly rattled.

“You remember us?” Nick asked, his voice barely a whisper as he looked up at Clay. “You remember everything? Including what happened with your memories?”

George clicked his tongue loudly, before Clay could even comprehend Nick’s question. “Are you really going to ask him something like that at 8AM in the morning?” 

Nick sighed, rolling his eyes at George, who couldn't even see him. He grabbed the slips of paper with the memory writing off the desk, giving them to Clay.

“Look familiar?”

It did.

He remembered writing them, he remembered meeting Nick, he remembered hearing that he had been waiting in vain for a long time for his mother to come. Yes, he remembered. But he remembered how bad it had hurt, but nonetheless, he remembered.

“I remember you Nick. Don't worry.” Clay sighed, yawning slightly. 

Nick laughed loudly. “Told ya, George. It was all me. That's why he remembers. I just fixed his memory problem, I'm a bloody legend.”

Nick walked up to George, slapping the blind boy on the back, jokingly as though that would prove his point. George seemed startled at first, but quickly gained his composure to try and hit Nick back.

“You should tell Lena. She'd want to know.” George suggested to Clay. “And memories don't just get better after meeting people.”

Clay looked at the papers, written in his handwriting about the others in the asylum. He remembered them, too. His hand lightly brushed over the words on the paper as George and Nick talked. Clay was distracted by Ranboo’s name, a new edge of familiarity to it. 

_What was wrong with Ranboo?_

He looked up at his new friends, realising he was still in bed while the other two were already dressed. “Goddamn it, why did you guys wake up so early?” He got out of bed.

“Eh, I've got to run somewhere. Appointments and shit.” George dismissed.

“Same here.” Nick added.

“So you guys aren't coming for breakfast?” Clay asked with a slight disappointment in his voice. Then he thought to himself, was there even breakfast at that place? He had never bothered to figure out what an actual scheduled day looked like at the asylum, he figured. 

Nick shook his head. “Sorry.”

Clay sighed heavily, running a hand through his blonde hair. George walked up to him. “Make friends Clay, come on.” He laughed. 

Clay could see his own uncertain, pale face reflected in George’s goggles. Clay looked exhausted, despite his full hours of sleep.

“I don't know. I’d feel better if you guys came down with me.” Clay muttered, his face turning slightly red. “You guys should meet the others. You can try to figure out Ranboo with me.” 

Nick let out a bitter laugh. 

“If only that were possible.”

George suddenly wrapped his arms around Clay’s neck, pulling him into a slight hug. Clay was taken aback by the sudden act of affection from the boy, his face turning a deep crimson almost instantaneously.

Clay pulled George closer to him too, hugging back.

He wasn't sure why George had a smokey, charred-like smell that he hadn't noticed before.

-

George and Nick had left when there was a knock at Clay’s door an hour later. 

“Uh, good morning. I don't know if you're gonna come for breakfast with us? Since you came yesterday for dinner, I thought… well… Tommy thought. But I thought too! I'm not going anywhere am I?”

Ranboo seemed to speak too fast for his own brain to comprehend, Clay smiling and watching him uncertaintly. 

“No, you're doing fine.”

Ranboo laughed awkwardly, a stiff sound in the otherwise dead silence of Clay’s room.

“So are you coming for breakfast?” he asked. Clay noticed Ranboo’s hands kept flying to the back of his neck, nervously. He was shifting his weight on both feet, as though struggling with the simple task of just standing.

“Yeah, I'll come. Just so Tommy won't bully you anymore.” Clay laughed, smiling at Ranboo who grinned back.

“He does that anyway.”

Clay laughed, unsure of what else to say. He knew he was acting very awkward around Ranboo, despite knowing Ranboo was definitely a very nice person. He could sense a slight distrust in Ranboo, the way that he looked at Clay, like he could see right through.

It was concerning. The two young boys looked at each other, Ranboo’s eyes on Clay, as Clay studied Ranboo. His black and white hair, unknown to Clay if it was genetic or a fashion statement.

Clay gestured to his own hair, raising an eyebrow at Ranboo whose pale skin turned slightly red.

“Genetic. I hate it.” Ranboo mumbled, grabbing a few strands of his hair.

“No I think it's really cool.” Clay reassured. 

Ranboo simply gave a grateful smile, before turning away. “I'll head on down.” 

Clay didn't say anything as Ranboo left the room, even though part of him did wonder why Ranboo didn't bother waiting for him. He did know that they were both going to the exact same location. 

He didn't question, however. And simply got up and left, after waiting for a few moments. He didn't want to be caught in an awkward situation with Ranboo again. He'd rather be in an elevator ride with Tubbo.

Clay was surprised he managed to find his own way to the cafeteria, going in to see the same faces he remembered from the previous day. But this time, Lena was there with the blonde detective who simply watched.

Lena looked up when Clay entered, looking surprised. “Clay? What are you doing here?” she quickly rushed to him. Philza looked at Clay as well, curiously.

“Um. I'm here for breakfast?” Clay said, as Lena fussed over him.

“But why? Isn't… Isn't your mother coming?” 

“Oh no, Clay came for dinner yesterday. He seems to remember stuff.” Ranboo spoke up, from the table. “I invited him down. He remembered me.”

Lena’s eyes widened, as she looked from Ranboo, back to Clay as though she didn't believe what she had just heard. Philza, on the other hand, looked as though he was on cloud 9, the way his eyes instantly lit up, looking as though Christmas just came early for him.

“The boy remembers?” he asked, too excitedly for Clay’s own comfort.

“What do you remember?” Lena asked, ignoring Philza completely, looking directly at Clay.

Clay suddenly felt his face burn up as he realised that he was the centre of attention from the other teens. They all looked at him, some with complete interest, like Tommy. Some who didn't look very interested, like Darryl. And some who just looked like they didn't know at all what was happening, which was Niki.

“Well?” Philza pushed on, Lena instantly shooting him a glance of disapproval.

“I don't know.” Clay mumbled. He gestured to the table of teens who stared back at him “I remember them, I remember you. I remember Lena. My mom… I remember… I don't know. I remember Nick and George.”

“Who?” Lena asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Nick and George.” Clay repeated. “My friends. My new friends.”

“I see. Your friends…” Lena trailed off. 

Philza nodded, his eyes shining with a certain edge of familiarity. “Do you remember anything before this hospital?”

Clay looked away, thinking. Collecting all his memories as far as he could. He remembered drawing a lot, but that was in the hospital. He remembered, hugging someone, probably George. He remembered George’s charred smell. Did Nick have a similar smell?

He remembered playing. Playing with what, he wasn't sure. But he remembered a laugh. He remembered someone talking about their grades. Someone talking about how they wanted to drop out of school. Two different people.

“Two people.” Clay said. 

“Who? Who are these people, Clay do you remember?” Philza asked.

“I don't know… I just… I just don't know.” Clay whispered, instantly feeling guilty, sorry. 

He could feel tears coming to his eyes, he wasn't sure why though. Why those two people caused him so much stress when he couldn't even remember them. He could feel Lena’s arms around him, in a hug. But he wanted Nick and George. 

“He’ll remember soon. Not now though.” Someone said. Clay wasn't sure who it was. He could see over Lena’s shoulder, the others looking at him.

Ranboo looked at him.

_“How fast do you think I can drink this?”_

_“Nothing.”_

_“Bet.”_

_“Oh god, you've created a mess.”_

The unfamiliar voices spoke in Clay’s head, familiar statements but he wasn't sure in what context. He just wasn't sure anymore. 

“Clay?” 

That was George’s voice.

“George…” Clay spoke.

Lena’s arms around him tightened, as though she herself was scared to let go. Why was she scared? That was George. Why was George there? Clay couldn't see, everything seemed like it was darkening.

“Clay!” 

He blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed this one :0 
> 
> kudos and comments are really appreciated!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Clay**

_ “Don’t play with that, c’mon.”  _

_ “Why not?” someone else said indignantly. _

_ “It's dangerous.” _

_ He could hear two young boys arguing, over what, he wasn't sure.  _

_ “Do you think he actually cares about us?” _

_ “Doubt it.” _

_ Clay was confused. The voices were so familiar, he had heard them before. He knew those voices, he knew the owners. But they felt so far away, like they were from a different timeline, a different universe. He knew that he knew the voices. But who said those words? _

_ “Who are you guys?” he asked. _

_ Silence. _

_ “Don't tell me you've forgotten.” _

_ “Remember us! Clay, remember us! You're almost there.” _

_ Burst of red.  _

_ Fire. _

He woke up.

He was in his room, IVs attached to him, a heart rate monitor beeping slowly beside him. At his side, the doctor. The doctor who was in charge of the teen’s wards. The one who comes and goes as she pleases.

“You okay, kid?” she asked, noticing he was awake.

Of course. She didn't even know his name. Then again, Clay didn't know hers.

“You blacked out. Your blood pressure dropped a lot in the cafeteria. You'll have these IVs with you for a while. But don't worry. They'll just be here. You seem fine. Anything you want to talk about?” the doctor asked, disinterested.

Clay shook his head, looking around for his paper and pen. 

“Your memory is getting better huh?” the doctor asked, as though just to strike up conversation as she wrote on her clipboard.

Clay shrugged. 

The doctor scoffed. She wasn't at all interested in his condition, Clay wasn't even sure why she became a doctor in the first place but there she was.

“Right, I'll come back to check on you soon.” 

She left the room, leaving Clay with his thoughts. He bit his lip slightly, staring up at the gray ceiling of his room, trying to recollect the dream he had. Who were those people? Were they the reason he was there? 

Was he crazy?

Perhaps.

“Hey Clay. You okay?” 

George walked in, slowly. He seemed used to Clay’s room layout already; but was tentative towards any new equipment that could have been added. Clay grinned when he walked in, pleased to see his friend. 

“Hey George! Yeah, I'm perfectly okay. Where's Nick?” He asked, getting out of bed to help George. He still had the IVs attached to him, but they gave him some leeway.

“I think Nick is getting his hearing aids changed or something. Not sure.” George said, holding Clay’s hand tightly when Clay walked forward to help.

It felt nice, to Clay. Having George hold his hand like that, he hadn't felt as safe in a long time. He knew. Even if he didn't remember, he knew.

“I'm alright. Aren't I, George?” Clay asked, looking at George who couldn't look back at him. Clay wasn't sure what he meant by his question, but George seemed to understand.

George smiled at Clay, squeezing his hand. “You'll be fine. You'll always be fine. You survived so much up until now, just a little more to go. Then maybe, peace will finally find you.”

Peace sounded nice. Finally being able to continue, without weights behind him. Without the shadow of a past, the forgotten memories locked behind his mind, shackles of guilt and mistakes. The bars that held behind every dark thought, dark words and forgotten scenes. Once they were loose, he'd be free. Wouldn't he?

“You'll find peace too. Won't you, George?” Clay asked, his voice suddenly soft as George sat down on his bed, wincing slightly.

He laughed lightly at the question. A laugh that someone would give out to answer to the naiveness of a child. He laughed, emptily. 

“I'm on my way.” George replied.

-

Nick came in a few moments later, looking rather upset and down. His eyes seemed to have lost part of their sparkle and he was no longer walking with such a large jump in his step.

“You okay?” Clay asked, looking at Nick’s solemn face.

Nick shot him a confused look. “What?!” He yelled, loudly and unnecessarily. George was startled by the sudden yell, his hands going up to his ears.

Nick noticed George’s reaction, apologising. Still above normal average volume, however. “They took my hearing aids. Can't hear shit. You gotta bear with me right now.”

Poor Nick. He looked disappointed, looking at George who couldn't speak sign language. George was frowning too, his goggles reflecting Nick’s face.

“Why are we so fucked up?” Nick whined, walking forward and hugging George, as though he had never done so before. He hugged George, who seemed surprised. But George hugged back, tentatively at first.

“We just are…” George whispered, even though he knew Nick couldn't hear him. 

Clay watched the two sadly. He knew he probably had it best. He could see, he could talk, he could hear. He couldn't remember stuff, that was his worst thing.

“Imagine if I could see you right now, Clay?” George asked, reaching out. Clay instantly held George’s hand, as Nick rested his head on George’s shoulder, looking tired. 

“How cool would that be?” Clay laughed, interlocking their hands. Not a sign of romance, but a signal of trust. That whatever happened, Clay would trust George and Nick with his life. 

Clay imagined the day that all their flaws were gone. His mind was free, Nick could hear, George could see. How different would their lives be? Would they even be friends? How would they have met?

How different would the world be?

In some different universe, a whole lifetime could have been waiting for them. In a new world, a different world, a better world.

A whole different world.

_ “Maybe in a different world, he'd like us more.” _

_ “That's hoping for too much.” _

“Did you say something George?” Clay asked, looking up at the blind boy. 

“No? It wasn't Nick either.”

Nick stared expressionlessly at the wall, bored. He looked extremely bummed out. He looked tired, pale. His skin was its usual light colour but it looked paler. He couldn't hear, he was in a world of silence. Colour, but mute.

He looked dead.

“Nick?!” Clay yelled, shoving Nick, aggressively. He had panicked.

Nick stared at Clay in shock. “What?!” 

George stared at the two. He had zero clue what had just occurred. 

Clay’s breathing had quickened. He felt dizzy. He felt weird, watching Nick sit there in George’s arms, looking dead. He felt panicky. It was like staring at Death in the face, but Death wasn't a stranger to Clay. 

_ “What was that?” _

_ “What was what?” _

_ “Whatever Clay just did.” _

_ “Are you okay?” _

Nick stared at Clay, his eyes wide with concern and fear. They still lacked their usual sparkle and energy, but they had more emotion now than they did a few moments ago. 

“Are you okay?” Nick asked, doing sign language as well.

Clay nodded, his hand rising up to his head. He could feel it throbbing. He wanted to go to sleep, but he wasn't sleepy. He was tired, not sleepy. There was a difference.

_ “I'm tired.” _

_ “Then go to bed.” _

_ “I'm not sleepy. I'm tired.” _

“Maybe we should call the doctor?” George’s voice rang out. Clay was having a hard time focusing. He could hear George and Nick speaking, but where were they? They both suddenly went silent.

The room was empty.


	12. Chapter 12

_ “Run! Just run. We’ll be okay.” _

_ “Clay?! What are you doing? Just run! RUN.”  _

_ The screams were getting so loud. The smell of smoke was filling Clay’s lungs. He wanted to get out. But they were still in there…  _

_ He looked back at the room, to see the ceiling fall upon them, smoke and dust flying everywhere. The dust and residue fueled the flames, making it get bigger. The fallen ceiling broke the door, splinters flying everywhere.  _

_ A splatter of blood on the walls. _

_ “Clay?!” a scream. A yell. Calling out for him. But the person wasn't looking for him. They just found him. _

_ “They're in there!” Clay yelled. He could feel the warmth and heat spreading around him, burning at his face, grabbing at his clothes. _

_ There was a man in front of him. He couldn't see his face. But he was standing there, as though in a dilemma. He would choose the others, Clay thought. _

_ He was going to die. _

_ “Just go.” he mumbled.  _

_ Instead, he felt arms wrap around him, lifting him upwards slightly onto his feet. He was leaning against someone, as the person breathed heavily, as though regretting his decision. _

_ “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” _

_ The man kept repeating, again and again. Clay could feel his eyes and vision darkening. He was tired. So tired… _

_ He felt his body get thrown as he felt cool grass, damp with dew that embraced his burning body. He could hear voices, echoing around him. None of them were familiar. They were all so far away, as though there was actually no one theres _

_ “Is that Clay?” _

_ “Is he okay?” _

_ He recognised those voices.  _

_ But who's were they? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update coming soon dont worry


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